


Vague Memory

by rei_c



Category: Neuromancer - William Gibson, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cyberpunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-24
Updated: 2008-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff brings Jensen a new job, one that's going to change the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vague Memory

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment in style and content: cyberpunk! Based in William Gibson's _Sprawl Trilogy_ universe with spoilers from all books, as well as references to the _Bridge Trilogy_. If you haven't read at least _Neuromancer_ , this probably will not make much sense.

"Got you a new job," Jeff says.

Jensen rolls his eyes and looks at his nails. Black lacquer, smooth, liquid. A gouge in one; he'll have to get them repainted. "Guessed so, since I'm here. What is it this time, another simstim actress? No, wait, it's another closed transport up Freeside, isn't it? Damn it, Jeff, I'm not doing another one of those."

"Better." Jeff hands over a piece of paper. Jensen doesn't touch it. "Console-jockey. Came out of the Maas/Turner disaster. Name of Jared."

Taking the paper, Jensen's faced with a picture of his new job. Curls. Dimples. Moles. Crinkles around green eyes, the shape deep, cat-like. He's seen this face before. "Jared Padalecki. The Neologic wundercoder. He's looking for a razorboy?"

Jeff snorts. "Not him. Neologic. Last three guards they hired all bit the dust in a messy explosion. Kid escaped but word is he's going paranoid, said some guy called the Baron told him the net wasn't safe. Neologic wants him back on the job ASAP. Handler at Neologic's a guy by the name of Kripke, glorified fence, really, but he's gone straight. Kripke said the kid's contract lays out some pretty hefty details but he's never seen the whole thing. You're expected at the Envoy in an hour."

"There are people after him and they're keeping him at _New Suzuki_?" Jensen asks. Eyes widen behind mirrorshades. "Shit, Jeff. This Kripke guy, he has to be nuts. No way. I'm not doing it, no way."

"Quicker than a puppet parlour and twice as fun, Jen." Jeff licks his lips. "They'll pay enough to take care of the rest of your mods. The kid's worth more to them than their annual share prices, they'll pay anything you ask. And Neologic's promised to have Sense/Net wipe your files. No more pesky recognition on the street."

Jensen grimaces, taps one nail against the paper. The blade slides out quick and quiet, cuts out a square of detail. The rest of the paper flutters to the floor. Jensen's gone.

 

 

 

The lift takes Jensen right to the top floor, no problem. This is a nightmare for security. First thing's to get the kid out of here, no matter how many nanotechs are perched along the walls and windows. None of it helps when Jared answers the door himself.

"You're my new guard," Jared says. His eyes are brighter in person, like a Panther Modern's upgrades.

"You're living in Angie Mitchell's old rooms." Move past the kid, check out the room. Wall of windows, consoles littering up the floor, some kind of candle-and-dust mess in the corner. Jensen can work with this.

Jared shuts the door, doesn't lock it. "She was my cousin, sort of. I grew up out there in Maas' biolabs. I left six months before it all went megaton."

"Lucky you," Jensen says, "and I'm not a guard." The windows will need work if they stay. The longer Jensen's up here, the less he thinks they will. The Sprawl's underbelly will hide the kid better. "I'm a razorboy. Street samurai. Your handler wanted the best but she's out of the country." Jensen turns, faces Jared. "I'm her protege, you might say."

"Protege," Jared echoes. He moves closer, not scared. Good for him. He's curious when he asks, "What makes you the best, man?" Jared's not an asshole, Jensen can see that right off.

Jensen lifts one hand, checks his nails, lets the blades slide out quick and quiet. Jared looks fascinated. "Mirrorshades, blades, a few sensory augments. Once I'm done with your job, I'll be able to get the rest."

Nothing verbal from the kid but Jared moves closer, breaching Jensen's space. Standing toe-to-toe, kid's taller than Jensen thought he'd be, looks like six and a half feet, almost. Guess that's how they grow them in the mesa.

"I know you," Jared says. Eyes, green flecked with gold, and they're studying him. Distant, though, trying to pull Jensen from memory.

"I stimmed." Best to get it out of the way. "Went by the name of Alec. I was in a couple of your cousin's sims."

Jared shakes his head. His eyes sharpen. "No. It's something else. You remind me of someone I know. Maybe Samedi, if you smiled."

Samedi? Doesn't matter. Time to get to business. "They say you can jack in without a console. That true?"

Jared stretches to his full height, doesn't hide how broad his shoulders are, the flat planes of his stomach and the dips his hipbones leave behind on their path downwards. Good thing Moll's half a world away.

"Yeah, I can jack without a console," Jared says. "Prefer the Hosaka, though." He gestures at the pile of consoles on the floor, half of them torn apart and trailing metal like blood.

Jensen wrinkles his nose, scans the rooms again. Something's making noise; he looks, sees a train of minibots emerging from the hallway. "Pack your shit. We're getting the hell out of here."

 

 

 

Jared packs lighter than any of the other people Jensen's done work for. One bag, five minutes, a handful of parts from an ancient Ono-Sendai console -- the nine, out two years ago -- and just one of the minibots. Impressive.

Even more impressive, Jared takes in the grey dirt of the Sprawl with equanimity, almost like he's left penthouse and chief exec heights and mingled with the lower classes before. They've left the Manhattan dome, are hightailing it down the Sprawl to somewhere near Atlanta. Jensen called in a couple favours, managed to charter a private shuttle from a guy he knows, expensive but discreet. As many people gunning for Jared as everyone says, no way in hell Jensen's taking Jared anywhere on anything public.

"Tell me about this Baron," Jensen says. Jared's fiddling with the minibot, hands moving even as his face is looking at the window as if he's jacked in and flying past Sense/Net. Jensen's never seen anyone look like that before; there were rumours that Angie Mitchell could do the same thing but Jensen never asked her and he never heard proof from anyone he could trust. "The one who says it isn't safe to do what you're doing," he adds.

"I'm not jacked in," Jared says. It's another minute before his eyes clear. Jared shakes his head, curls catching the light coming through the shuttle's window, something red and neon-bright from Richmond blinking off-on, off-on.

Jensen takes out a bottle of nail varnish, shakes it a few times, unscrews the cap and uses the brush to place one drop onto the scratch he noticed from before. It sits there for a moment then spreads in, fills the cracks. Jensen puts the bottle away and looks up to see Jared watching him. "What?"

Jared grins, shakes his head. The minibot beeps then chirrs, rocking off of Jared's lap and onto the floor of the shuttle. It tiptoes toward Jensen, wobbling on unsteady legs, pokes his leg then scuttles away.

"Bet it, what, just took my blood type, bank accounts, Sense/Net profile?" Jensen shakes his head, glares at the bot then at Jared.

"No, man. It just poked you. Nothing else. Where are we going?" Jared asks.

Jensen narrows his eyes. "Somewhere safer. Leave it at that."

Jared shrugs, says, "Sure."

Impressive, again. From what Jensen's heard from Molly, hackers aren't usually this easygoing. Then again, Jared isn't a typical hacker.

 

 

 

Jensen swings Jared by the Gentleman Loser on the way down to Atlanta, has a minor run-in with a group of today's version of the New Scientists while he's asking around for a joeboy or two to distract Neologic's competition. Moll's name is a better password than credit down here and Jensen isn't afraid to throw it around when he needs to. Mostly he doesn't; people know him well enough to know that nothing comes between him and the payoff when he's on a job. Word of the last run-in with some Chiba City hacks has spread out, coated his way towards a little respect. It helps.

The joeboys volunteer, awed by Jared even though they don't know his name, know he has to be someone big if Jensen's on the case. The minibot perched on Jared's shoulders, cooing and stroking curls of Jared's hair, only makes it worse; no one comes into the Loser with minibots anymore, especially ones leaking emotion chips.

On the 'Lanta fringes, in the same general area Dixie Flatline came from, Jensen gets them a room at the Kandinsky Ring. In the early days, the Ring was a place for hookers and users. Some genius got wise to the potential 'round the same time New Suzuki was being built, but where the Envoy counted on a French eco-design team and engineered everything, Sprawl money paid for the Ring and Sprawl ingenuity designed it.

Jared stands on the walk out front and stares up at the three outermost rings of the building, painted in bright, nauseating colours. The minibot whirrs and jumps down, clicks a few times then starts crab-walking to the front door.

"I like it," Jared says. "Though I thought we were going for anonymity."

Jensen smiles. Neon paint reflects off of his mirrorshades and he reaches around to scratch the back of his neck, slight point of one blade emerging just enough to really dig in. "Bright on the outside, cone of fucking silence on the inside. How many times have people come after you in the past two months?"

Jared thins his lips and the minibot pauses, turns to face them. "Eight," he finally says. "Though Neologic seems to think half of them were the same person."

"And you can't track them? Should be a piece of cake for someone like you."

"Not safe to jack in," Jared says, minibot scuttling back to Jared, crawling up Jared's legs. The coder reaches down, picks it up, lets it settle on his shoulder. "Someone's done something."

Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose. Kid could be a _little_ more vague. "Wait 'til we're inside," he says, "and then tell me what the hell that means."

 

 

 

He gets them a room on the ground floor in one of the inside rings; no windows but the place is defensible and there are multiple exits. Jensen leaves Jared with the minibot bumping into walls and corners and goes out for some food.

Jensen's coming back from the nearest Lucky Dragon when his augments pick up something. His finely-honed sixth sense tells him that it's related to Jared, happening at the Ring.

He runs.

 

 

 

The room's in shreds when he gets back to the hotel. Manager and housekeeping are standing outside of the door, white-faced and shaking. Jensen pushes them out of the way, takes out a couple throwing stars and his well-loved Chinese knock-off Walther.

Jensen peers around the corner, into the room, and shrinks back, narrowly missing getting hit by some kind of armour-piercing shrapnel.

"Get away!" a woman calls out. "We've got him. If you don't move and let us go, we'll kill him."

"Awful lot of effort to just kill the kid," Jensen yells back. He's trying to formulate a plan when he sees the minibot in the corner of the room, clear line of vision from where Jensen's crouched at by the door. The bot lifts one leg, points, then lifts another and holds it up, then stands on its back two legs and starts doing something with the other four. Jensen raises an eyebrow, wonders if the bot was trained in Moll's particular version of jive because it's telling him everything he needs to know.

One person, behind Jared, knife to the kid's throat. Jensen signs back, then sighs, shakes his head. Fucking hell. Someone _really_ wants the kid dead if they're hiring out Lexie Bledel. What a bitch.

A hurried conversation with the minibot and Jensen gets down on his belly, steadies his gun in his hands, and takes careful aim. One shot and Bledel's down.

"What took so long?" Jared asks, stepping away from the body and picking up the bot, hand ghosting over its outer casing.

"You need to find out who's sending them." Jensen stands, looks around what's left of the room. He eyes the bot, knows this could have gone much worse, taken much longer, if the bot hadn't helped. "And we need to find a new place. I thought the Ring would be good enough. Guess I was wrong. Hate when that happens."

 

 

 

After the Ring, they end up back in Richmond, staying in a place the Finn turned Molly on to years ago. Moll gave it up after the Finn went cyberspace and became an oracle, said she couldn't trust him or the place. Jensen fixed it up, negotiated his own brand of security for the building, has an old console jockey keeping an eye on the understated surveillance ice.

Two days after Jensen leaves Bledel for dead, the grid around the place gets cracked. Two days of peace before the next assassination attempt and a closer call for both of them than Jensen feels professionally comfortable with. Up and down the Sprawl after that, then Jensen takes Jared over to Night City, goes completely off any track-tech they might still be pinging. They lose whoever's trailing them in the back alleys, spend a day squatting in a splice-and-dice clinic, finally settle in a cheap coffin-hotel near the port.

The coffin's intimate, to say the least. They spend nights walking around Chiba, brushing against _sararimen_ and traipsing every corner of Ninsei, and days pressed against one another, full lengths of bodies touching while they sleep. The minibot sits at the end of the coffin, near the door, and Jensen finds he doesn't mind the robotic guardian, first time in his life. Thing's not too bad, when all's said and done.

Jared's not too bad either. Tight-lipped, which Jensen respects, and he keeps his hands off of Jensen's mirrorshades without needing reminders. There's something strange about the kid, though. A coder who won't code? And he never answers Jensen's questions about what he knows, just gets that far-off look while he's knuckles deep in the bot's hardware.

 

 

 

Jensen hits up the nearest Beautiful Girl for coffee one early morning, goes back to the coffin and finds it mostly empty. The bot clicks and whirrs, starts shuffling out. Jensen sighs and follows it out of the temp-controlled hotel and back into the humidity of a Night City morning.

Mirrorshades darken as Jensen looks up at the sun, chronometer ticking away as Jensen scans the area. Jared's walking away from a yakitori stand when Jensen and the bot finally catch up to him. The minibot tugs at Jensen's leather trousers, climbs up when it gets a good hold. Jensen picks it off halfway up his thigh before it can do any damage. Jared offers Jensen a stick, starts gnawing on his own.

"Fucking hate summer," Jensen mutters.

Jared turns around, asks, "Why?"

Jensen gives Jared a smile. "Might be living under a burnt-out silver sky but there's still humidity. Changes the direction of my bullets and completely fucks with the speed. Plus it has a tendency to gum up my nails. Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Jared's studying him, sweatslicked skin and curls of his hair sticking to his skin. What he's looking for, Jensen doesn't know, but Jared must find it. "The AIs in cyberspace," he says. "They have personalities. Something happened after your mentor went up Freeside, something Case did, it screwed with everything. Mitchell, what he did to me and Angie, we can talk to them. I know it sounds crazy."

"Sounds?" Jensen asks, tugging Jared's arm and pulling back towards an alley, away from the centre of the street. "Fuck, you _are_ crazy. Computer programs running _personalities_?"

"You said you worked with Angie. If you did then you met Continuity."

Jensen stops in his tracks. Okay, yeah, maybe personalities aren't such a stretch but, "Why you two?"

"The way Mitchell made us," Jared shrugs. "I don't know how it works, just that it does. Can I keep going?"

"Towards an explanation, yes. Running from the only safe place you've found, no."

"I'm not _running away_." Jared sounds frustrated. Good. Makes two of them. "Anyway. One of the personalities, that's Samedi, the Baron. He wanted to wait for you but he said we needed to."

A whine pierces Jensen's sensory augments, sounds like it's being transmitted through the air from a thousand clicks. He holds up a hand to stop Jared but realises the kid's already stopped, has his head cocked to one side and is listening intently. Jared doesn't have augments. Jared wasn't built with supertech senses.

The coffin-hotel explodes.

Jensen sighs.

 

 

 

Transport for Russia's the first thing leaving Ninsei so that's what Jensen buys two tickets for, flashing old-style credit chips under the pilot's nose. No one questions them when they board, not with Jared's bot making a nest of the kid's hair, not with Jensen tapping the corner of his mirrorshades with one blade, scanning over the crowd. Face recognition implants and the unofficial hook-up to the Turing Registry cost him but they were worth it, still are, probably always will be.

No one on the shuttle's hitting the Registry but that's no guarantee. Emergency exits at the back, halfway down the middle. Shuttle whines as it takes off, shakes a little. Experienced travellers close their eyes and try to sleep, others look around, keep their mouths shut when no one else complains. Jensen leads Jared to the back row, makes the kid get in first and doesn't back down, even when Jared throws him puppy-dog eyes and mumbles something about his legs.

"So, kid."

"My name's Jared."

Jensen rolls his eyes behind mirrorshades. The minibot stands up, wavers unsteady as the shuttle hits the next level of atmosphere and speeds up, then jumps over to land on Jensen's head. Jensen growls, reaches up to move the bot and gets hit with a wave of _something_ as his hand makes contact with the metal. Reminds him of when he stimmed, fucking Piper Hill's Usher tests upping all of his senses more than any augment ever could. "The hell was _that_?" he whispers. There wouldn't be a point to screaming the question, not when Jared's right next to him and there are too many unknowns on the shuttle.

"The AI personalities," Jared says. Jensen nods, remembers talking about them a scant hour ago. Blown up buildings aren't enough to throw him off his game. "They inhabit cyberspace but they can jump to things that've been built the right way. Well, not jump like they inhabit them, but a part of them kind of connects," he trails off, shakes his head. "It's hard to explain."

"You," Jensen says steadily, "are telling me that the bot digging claws into my skull not only has a tenuous connection to the Net but that it has AIs roaming through it?"

Jared licks his lips. Jensen's eyes flick to follow the tongue for a split second. "Only two of them. The Baron and Ezilie."

Jensen lets Jared wait for a moment before he asks, "The same Baron who told you wasn't safe to jack in?"

"Yeah."

"And what's he saying now?"

Jared reaches out, lays his hand on the minibot and lets it scuttle on to his hand and then up his arm, curling in the space next to his neck. Jared's eyes go unfocused and Jensen finally understands what that means, that he's communicating with the AIs hovering in the bot, jacking in without needing console or dermatrodes, doing something that should be -- that _is_ \-- impossible.

"Baron says that we're looking too far away," Jared finally says. "Says that he's tunnelled through Neologic's security ice and found something I need to take a look at. When we're somewhere safe, he can guarantee clean access long enough for me to download the intel."

"You trust the Baron this much." Jensen hates the idea of depending on an AI, knows from experience and tale how horrifically unreliable they've become since Case and Villa Straylight.

Jared smiles. The expression is dazzling, like every recorded sunrise in Lado-Acheson that Jensen's ever seen. "Yeah," Jared says. "Yeah, I do."

 

 

 

They transfer shuttles in St. Petersburg, hop a train in Paris, and end up walking into a robata bar in Earls Court. Summer in Chiba means summer in London but it's cold, wet. Jensen hates this weather almost as much as the humidity. Least the Sprawl's good for one thing, weather-modified domes a godsend if he looks at it the right way.

Jensen wants safe. That only comes in the part of the Jack Drac's territory handled by the Yakuza. He's had contacts in the organisation since the beginning, almost initiated until he met Moll. He still hasn't figured out what she was doing in London but he has a hell of a lot more fun running guard ops than hanging out along the river and assaulting foreigners. Come natural, the work has, and even though he's had to resort to the puppet parlours for credit, he'll always owe Molly a debt.

Her London and his London, they overlap but they've never been the same. Still, while the Jack Draculas eye him and leave Jared alone, the Yakuza make eye contact and nod when he passes, Jared and that ridiculous bot in tow.

Jensen waves at the guy behind the bar, leads Jared to an out-of-the-smoke corner table. One minute and there's a pitcher of warm sake on the table, two minutes and a large platter of robata joins the pitcher. Jensen picks up chopsticks, uses those to grab a piece of enokitake with one hand while the other's reaching for a skewer of shrimp. They ate last in Russia, quick mini-loaf of rehydrated rye bread, cup of onion soup, protein bar.

Jared's sipping at his sake, picking at a skewer of chicken and plum paste, minibot back on the top of his head. He looks thoughtful, sees Jensen looking and asks, "You feel safe in London, surrounded by people loyal to the Yakuza?"

Jensen's grin is brittle, sharp. "Did a favour for the _oyabun_ ," he says with a shrug. "Me and Moll, we're tight with the Kanaka family. Once we're done eating, I have a room downstairs. You can jack in -- or not, whatever -- and find out what we're supposed to know."

"Sounds good," Jared says. Big hands reach for another skewer, long, slender fingers curling around the bamboo.

Jensen thinks of the coffin-hotel, swallows more sake.

 

 

 

Jared jumps back from the console, tripping over wires and trodes he never used. Cheeks pale, mouth open; can't be good news. "Neologic," he says. "My contract. My. My own _company_ is trying to kill me."

That changes things.

"Tell me about your code," Jensen orders. "Why the fuck would your _kaisha_ want to kill you?"

Jared's shaken. He sits down, bot crawling on his lap. "How much do you know about the code?" he asks, eyes on the bot. "About what I do?"

Jensen sits down, sprawls out. "Enough to know you have your own handler. They call you the wundercoder, said you created some new shit that's made Neologic the best in the business. Before you, they weren't even on the horizon in cyberspace and now they have a shell brighter than Mitsubank, negotiate with Sense/Net on an equal basis. Hell, I've heard they have contacts in Turing, even."

"Half of the code is security," Jared says. His hands skitter over the bot's surface, pluck open a panel and twist something inside. "But I have a connection with the 'net. That means I see things differently. Your Molly's Case, he was a joeboy; trained well and quick, but he could only work with what he had. They say he was one of the best but he couldn't even punch through Wintermute without the Flatline's help. Fact, Dixie Flatline was maybe the best. The pair of them together, man."

Case doesn't need defending but Jensen feels the urge. He bites it back, swallows it down, sharp glass, says, "You don't consider yourself a joeboy."

Jared's lips quirk. He still isn't looking at Jensen. "What you are, what Molly is, you're at a different level from regular bodyguards. They do what they do, well and good, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it'll work."

"But we're better," Jensen says. "We're different."

"All I'm saying."

Jensen studies the kid, watches as Jared unravels two wires and splices them, reworks them into new connections. The bot hums, clicks twice. "How you see the 'net," Jensen says. "It's that different?"

Jared finally looks up. "I don't need to jack in, Jensen. I see it all the time."

 

 

 

Jensen calls Jeff, says just enough for Jeff to piece everything together.

"Well, shit," Jeff says.

"Yeah," Jensen says. Crackles on their connection. Jensen wonders if it could be Neologic, maybe Sense/Net or Turing. "Guess they didn't think I was this good."

Jeff snorts. "Or that the kid's got friends in high, non-corporate places. Why are they trying to kill him?"

"Kid says the contract gives Neologic proprietary rights if the kid dies but it's his until then." Jensen checks his blades, figures one needs to be sharpened. "And they're in hush-hush negotiations with Sense/Net right now. Jared won't extend the code past Neologic's boundaries even if they merge, says there isn't a way to protect the new shit. A source told us that the two companies would rather let more willing techs look at it."

Jeff groans. "So if they get him out of the way, they own the code, they can fuck it up. What're you gonna do?"

Jensen grins, teeth gleaming. "Got a plan. What've you got going on the next couple days?"

 

 

 

Jared's safe enough in Jensen's robata bar basement digs, doubly so when Jeff helps Kripke do a runner and lose all of Neologic's trackers and programs. All four of them meet up in the basement, Kripke fascinated by what's going on, Jeff looking tired. Jensen gets it.

No room, so Jeff sleeps on the floor near the door, Kripke on the couch. Jared and Jensen share the bed, mirror-image of their night at the coffin-hotel. Jared's warm and very obviously appreciates Jensen's habit of sleeping nude. The minibot sits at the foot of the bed and coos at them all night, makes clicking noises when Jensen finally rolls over and slides down on Jared's dick.

Jared doesn't touch the mirrorshades and Jensen keeps his blades firmly in check.

Jensen leaves before light while Jared and Kripke are still sleeping. Jeff wakes up, murmurs, "Good luck," and moves out of Jensen's way.

 

 

 

Leaving London isn't something Jensen wants to do but he can only do so much even with a genius coder at his disposal. He boards a shuttle for the Sprawl, checks some ident numbers on the BAMA registry once he arrives, calls up the leader of the Moderns.

Jensen'd met Lupus Yonderboy years ago, likes him well enough. Lupus asks what he needs, Jensen says, "A distraction. Preferably not Grievous Angel this time."

Lupus grins, tooth bud transplants bright, polycarbon suit pulled off of his head with the rest of it whirling to fit the backdrop of the Boston Metroplex. "Your wish, Mister Sharp. Timeline?"

"I need some intel," Jensen says. "I'll be in touch."

"You and the Brood Mother." Lupus shakes his head, pulls up his hood. "Always give us the best jobs. We'll be waiting."

 

 

 

Chiba's next. Jensen doesn't hang around more than he needs to, grabs some things friends have been holding for him. Contact details get left with Ratz, just in case, and Jensen leaves a message for Moll on his way back Stateside. He hasn't heard anything from her in months, still wonders where the fuck she went to ground at after the Angie Mitchell thing she said she was working on.

No time to worry about that, not with Yonderboy and his Moderns ready for what Jensen has planned. Neologic's main campus is in Charleston. Three interlocked buildings, heightened security, both physical and tech.

Jensen calls Jeff, says, "Ready to go if you are," as soon as Jeff answers.

Two second delay and Jeff replies, "Yeah. Jared's waiting. Someone he calls the Baron said he's gonna help you but Jared needs to talk to Yonderboy."

Not something Jensen wants to do. He flips the switch and lets Yonderboy in on the conversation. Yonderboy tells Jared to go.

"Samedi agrees," Jared says. "And Ezilie's ready to help. Normal timing?"

"We'll count." The conversation's over. Yonderboy gives Jensen a grin, says, "Ready when you are, Mister Sharp."

 

 

 

The Moderns released Grievous Angel -- Blue Nine -- last time, when Moll broke into Sense/Net for the Flatline's construct. They needed people out but one of their own in. This time Jensen's going for destruction. Yonderboy's kids get in, polycarbon suits shimmering, and plant the canisters of Raging Sunflower. Jensen pities all the people that're going to be hit with that, psychosexual agent banned two months after its creation, but wouldn't change it.

Yonderboy counts down, sets the chemical agent off, and the noises coming out of Neologic's buildings multiply exponentially. BAMA Rapid police are on the scene ninety seconds later, get the people out, get affected themselves, start ripping off clothes and fucking on the pristine grounds minutes later.

Jensen shakes his head, checks his suit's filtration system, and jogs into the building. He exits five minutes later and as he's pulling his suit off, the building explodes. Neologic crashes and burns to the ground.

Yonderboy takes the suit, has his personal joeboy already surfing cyberspace. "Tell Samedi it's done," he says.

Fingers crash-collide against the Ono-Sendai. "Ice is down," the joeboy says. He sounds amazed, trying to keep focused. "The whole fucking construct is down. It's just, shit. It's _gone_."

Jensen's phone rings. He clicks it on, hears, "We have a shuttle. Get back here," clicks off.

"The code's being hacked," the joeboy says. "No, wait. It's not being hacked. It's being released. Padalecki just released the code. It's. Fuck me, it's gorgeous."

Jensen smiles, shakes Yonderboy's hand, heads out of the Sprawl and back to London.

 

 

_Later_

Jared looks out the window, lets his eyes unfocus on the curve of Freeside. He waits for the moment when patterns in his head slide to one side and form a new circuit, junkie waiting for a fix. Mind whirling to the left, he can feel the impending explosion of cyberspace; he counts down from three and just as 'one' has left his lips, cyberspace unfurls like a flower in the sun, 3-D checkerboard, Neologic's old space now empty, Mitsubank gleaming brighter than Sense/Net's monstrous cube, brighter even than the military spirals reaching up into cyberspace's version of Freeside, Tessier-Ashpool's own cube, slick like oil from all of 3Jane's old, latent security AIs.

Samedi is there, twining as Jared expands his mind. Jared looks over, brushes across one of the small crystals of a Lucky Dragon surveillance net, quiets it before it starts sounding an alarm. "Baron? He reminds me of you, a little."

"Naw," Samedi says. "I remind you of him." Jared blinks. "You think all your daddy doing out there in the mesa, that was engineering? Chile, you grew up in our playground, you one o' our first friends, you and Angie. You watched Molly, you watched him. You our Colin Laney, chile."

"Laney," Jared whispers. "Shit. _Nodes_."

He jacks out without realising.

Later, when Jensen comes back with two squares of tofu and a box of soba noodles, Kripke and Jeff trailing him with beer and laughter, Jared thinks he should have asked how the hell Jensen's central to a node. And when it's going to come back and bite them on the ass.


End file.
